Winter ascend of Pikes Peak

I don't know how I come up with insane ideas, but I do. One of the very first ones was back before year 2000 and my running career - in fact, it started my ultrarunning in a way. The story goes that I ran a bit in the mornings to make sure my weight doesn't go up too much, and I was doing some rock climbing, which I was good at, but I was afraid of heights (going down on belay was always less than pleasant in my head). Then I read "Into thin air" and thought: hmm, maybe I should train to do Everest. So, February 2000 was picked to summit Mt. Washington in NH (I lived in NY at the time and we did plenty of backpacking/hiking/skiing/climbing in North East). Mt. Washington, while a mere 6,288 ft (still highest on the East Coast), is famous for crazy strongest winds ever recorded, and snow fall known to happen in any month of the year. The day I picked was especially brutal: -25F, wind chill -50F, wind North 35-50 mph with gusts up to 80 mph, and, of course, a whiteout. Um, yeah, that describes me, pretty much...the water and food froze (I was quite inexperienced in winter adventures at the time), and the last mile was crawled on my hands and knees because I kept getting knocked out by the wind if I stood up. The only useful thing was cognac in a little flask, I guess that was fuel and warmth...Anyway, telling you, I am a little "out there" when it comes to ideas and not giving up. After that stint, I suddenly turned a running addict, to longer and gnarlier the better. Go figure.

Well, this excursion to the past is simply to set the tone. At least, it was over 20 years ago, one would hope at 51 I am a bit more coherent - not! I decided I want a winter ascend of Pikes Peak. To start my new 2021 year right. On a day the snowstorm was predicted. Yeah...The good news was that Larry drove out this morning to Lubbock, TX, to spend some time with Harrison, so I didn't have to rush (being not in shape to crack 26+ miles with nearly 9,000 ft gain and in winter conditions). The bad news were, well, winter conditions. I had no clue what the trail will look above tree line, so I downloaded a map on my phone, checked the weather (snowstorm is to come after 11 am), loaded my spikes and extra Marmot jacket into the pack, and prayed to God I beat the weather to the top - plus hopefully actually find that top.

Larry and I both left the house shortly after 4 am, I parked my car downtown Manitou (I am cheap, so extra 1.3 mile each way!), and at 5 am exactly I was at the start of Barr trail, headlamp and all. The first 2.5 miles are familiar to the "t" - this is my descend from weekly Incline trips. Literally a minute after I began, 2 guys started their own Barr trail travel, tall, 30's, passing me quickly. That's ok, at least they'll scare the mountain lions! 3 miles up one of them was running back to pick up his glove he dropped, so I asked if they are heading to the top. He said not sure, his friend (visiting) wants to, but the weather...so I was all knowledge and experience and replied: if you clear the top by 10 am (thinking, tall, young, running some uphill sections) you'd be fine. Deep inside I was hoping they'd break the trail for me above tree line. At mile 5 you get a glance at the Pikes Peak for the first time, and it was still clear up top even though behind and below the clouds were looming. Around next corner I catch those 2 guys. I pass, and they fall behind me in step, not passing. I am not a fan of being pushed and not hiking my own pace, so at Barr camp I stopped to take a photo and let them pass.

The trail has been hard packed snow with some patches of ice here and there since mile 3, but I wore my old Hoka that Larry put screws into the bottom (winterizing 101!), so all was good for me. Another mile from camp, I walk on those 2 guys again. WTF? I pass, now not saying a thing, neither did they, eating Cliff bars. I power on, past A-frame, and into the open space - with sun rays on one side of the mountain, and deep clouds below and on another side. Gorgeous!

For a long time I don't hear those boys talking/catching up, so my thoughts are they turned around. As they should have. They didn't look prepared, small packs, no extra clothes, and shoes without winter gear. As soon as I get above tree line, snow drifts are everywhere, and not much in terms of visible path of steps. In fact, some snow-covered steps go every direction, and crossing some goat imprints as well. I am amazed at my subconscious knowledge of the trail. Somewhere deep inside, not in my brain, more like in tactile senses, I make out turns and rock formations. I break the hard snow in some places, float over in other, and keep making forward progress. In fact, in one of the absolutely white field with not a single step around (just my screws behind) I pull out the phone and check the app for the trail - and whoa, I am standing right smack on it! I am so proud, thrilled, and amused. 

 At some point, with about 2 miles to the top, the snow drifts become quite steeply slanted, and I sit down to get my spikes on. As I stand up, I hear voices. Those guys, damn it, following my navigation skills and my breaking trail (sometimes punching through the crust knee and even thigh deep)! I got sort of pissed, and took off, as much as it was possible while continuing looking for signs of trail turns and breaking steps. As I looked back a couple of times, I see one guy wants (and seems to be capable) to gain on me (red jacket I call him), while the other (green jacket, one I talked to at the beginning) keeps falling behind. I make my way to Golden staircase, head down.

It's about there that I see that the "red jacket" left his friend standing still (waiting) low behind, and is catching up. Don't you dare pass me near the top, I scream inside, not cool! I broke the trail! I make the last few turns, huff my body on the clear, and walk towards the rock pile to take a summit photo (since the summit itself is closed for work, still, all gated). The red jacket passes me there, without saying a single word, no "thanks for the trail", no "good job". What an a**! I take 2 pictures, focus my mind on the upcoming storm below, and quickly start retracing my steps down.

About a mile below summit is where the "green jacket" is waiting for his friend. I stop and tell him that it's not polite to use the trail I broke and not thank me. He apologizes for his friend. Neither one has even screws on their shoes, and I see high above the "red jacket" slowly trying to descend some of the slopes I walked across without punching on my spikes. I wish them both safe retrieve, and hurry down. The fog surrounds me, and the snow starts falling another half a mile later. I hope they make it down ok. It's much more difficult to descend without proper winter gear, and not knowing the trail, which turns out they don't! Even I, as the clouds and snow flurries swallow me still above tree line, have to stare very carefully to find my own steps I made on the way up. And those are quickly getting covered by fresh snow.

I make it to the tree line safely, and past A-frame, entering the forest. While the snow keep falling, the trees prevent it from being heavy and much so I see much better. I still wear my spikes, making my way down on packed snow, old and new, not really running at all - I am kind of tired after all the snow breaking hike up. And it's ok, I remind myself, I don't have to hurry today.

I pass Barr camp, and now I know I made it. My feet are wet and cold, but other than that, I am ok. I pass a couple more rock formations (one of which gave me clear view on Pikes Peak just few hours prior! not now!), and near Incline junction take my spikes off. The remainder of the trail down is going to be a mixed bag of snow and dirt, and I am ok doing it on screws.

It is there that I finally start to run. Like my body turned itself on its own - this stretch is being run weekly on the way down from the Incline, so it has to be run, tired or not. I pass a bunch of tourists who scatter off the trail as they hear my thumping (and they all wear masks, huh? - go back to your states if you can't be outside), and before I know it, the last 1.3 mile road stretch is under my feet. I break into a walk, again, sucking my water to the end (this whole trip on 2.5 bottles!), and soon enough get to the car.

 

It is gently snowing in the city, and I am so relieved to have make this adventure happen. 26.4 miles with almost 9,000 ft of gain today took me 9:45, the longest ever, but I couldn't have been more proud. Back home, showered and sipping coffee (finally!!!), I am, yet again, amused - and amazed - by my own grit and crazy decision making process. There you go. Pikes Peak #1 for the year, complete.

P.s. I never wanted to climb Everest, by the way, anymore. I was far more than fulfilled with what I was doing, and Everest with crazy conga lines did not appeal to me, once I looked closer into it. Kind of like through-hiking AT is absolutely out of question for me. Too many people, and you don't ever see me there.